


Am Fear Liath Mor

by KarmaMayOrMayNotBeOkay



Series: KMOMNBO - Monthly Challenges [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Asexuality Spectrum, Eldritch Force, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Herrah, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jedi are some weird eldritch entity that judge cases, Mandalorians are a Fae Court, Multi, Worldbuilding, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi, chapters are anywhere from 100 - 3k, presumed child snatching, respecting the linearity of time is for cowards, sensitive content, though they still vibe with space a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarmaMayOrMayNotBeOkay/pseuds/KarmaMayOrMayNotBeOkay
Summary: A response to mneiai for the October challenge of Marry Plo. This has been super anticipated and as a result of Spooky Month, everyone has been infecting my mind with Fae!Au's.Basically, the premise is that the discord was, a while ago in September actually, telling me that Herrah and Plo was a completely valid ship. Also still infecting me with Fae thoughts. Herrah steals her favorite baby, doesn't give him back, and Plo is sent out to fix it. Instead of fixing it, somehow they come to a compromise instead.Point is, Plo was somehow married between now and then and Obi-Wan gets to finish studying at the temple. To be fair, he did not initially know that Herrah meant to marry him when she suggested 'binding his life to hers' as a clause in the agreement. He should have seen this coming, she's still Fae, even if Mandalorian Court.
Relationships: 104th Battalion | Wolfpack Battalion & Plo Koon, Hakim & Herrah, Herrah Viern & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon & Herrah Viern, Plo Koon & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon/Herrah Viern
Series: KMOMNBO - Monthly Challenges [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912549
Comments: 73
Kudos: 78
Collections: Marry Plo Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lithvirax. 
> 
> First few chapters, I'd like to keep short and informative, a buildup, basically.

The Jedi temple was a place of neutrality, a place where the ones who had the power to tear through, or the wisdom to simply ask, presented their woes, and let the Jedi rule over them. The visitors anxiously watched, waited for a decision, waited for the Jedi to make a verdict on their case.

Few slighted them, for some of the oldest and wisest and  _ wickedest  _ beings sat on their high council. People from all recognizable cultures, and some that did not look familiar at all, could be found in the Inbetween. Few liked to drag their issues to the Jedi, because being stared down by so many beings, with so many unfamiliar and exotic features, was intimidating.

Some whispered that they stole children, that was how they populated their realm, but this, factually, was incorrect. The Fae stole more children than any mere Jedi did, and the becoming of one was almost always consensual and  _ always  _ on their decision. 

They could not, however, dismiss the hungry nature of the Inbetween. It constantly craved for new blood, and even internal matters in the temple could not free you entirely from it’s grasp. It  _ tried  _ to steal children. It opened portals for those too young to know to not to wander through, it tried to bend the mind of the temple to spot them, to take them and run.

As a result, some ingenious soul had come up with a solution, a failsafe for their minds  _ and  _ the portals. It was never detailed, but these days, to be taken into the Inbetween was something that requires power, training for fine control, or a Jedi. For every one of them knows how to cross.

The Jedi, in all factions, all divides, tried to avoid stealing children. Though in some cases, in a miserably high number of cases, it needed to be done anyways. Some cultures simply did not accept a child once it begins to show signs of the force, start to ignore it, or hunt it, in the worst cases.

In these, a Jedi would quietly be dispatched to find them, heal them, and take them to the Inbetween. It was a possessive place, a hungry place, but it would never harm it’s children. These were designated Finders, and almost all of them had a heart of gold, with at least one vicious streak for the neglectful ones responsible.

So no, the Jedi did not steal children, unless it was necessary, and truly so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep these short and sweet, one point at a time for you guys to hyperanalyze.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was of little note in the grander picture of the Inbetween. He was cherished and coddled and when he was small, and when the Sith were sure that he wouldn’t remember them, held tenderly. But this was normal for a crecheling like him. Plo Koon, a Kel Dor, was his Finder, and he was from the Court of Watchers. Which explained away his delicately pointed ears, the baby fangs and the copper red hair mostly unique to the court.

The Watchers were far better than most, but they held little idea of how to train and raise a youngling attuned to the force. They knew this, knew their duty would get in the way, and gave him up with little more than a clan name, his star veil, and a brief farewell. They didn’t wish to get attached to him and cling.

He had displayed an aptitude to the force far earlier than most, but it, in the end, was one of the only remarkable things about him until he’d have time to grow and develop skills. He was handled gently, as all crechelings were, and he grew up as slowly as they had dreaded.

Fae childhoods were always so long, and making friends was harder for them. Those who we’re old enough to know their courts clung some, tried to utilize some traditions, while others had come so early, so sensitive or so in danger that they needed to be taken from their courts while the Jedi bared their teeth at them. A few, like Obi-Wan, were given objects from their courts, little gifts bestowed upon them, or something they’d need in the future.

Like his star veil. The Watchers stayed in high altitudes, and had camps both nomadic and rooted in cities so advanced most beings would gape. They monitored the stars, the moons, and the events of the world through the sky. They invented the calendar, determined an accurate day cycle, and yet, they we’re still Fae at heart, and they loved their old traditions. 

They brewed only ceremonial wine, because inhberiation was not fit for gazing, they did not partake in traditional hunts, because their moons could decide for them when life needed to be taken, and their red hair was both a point of pride and something that made the collective population paranoid. Their red hair was beautiful, their red hair got them stolen away to be spouses and slaves and children. 

The star veil had been designed to protect them, and to bind their families together. You did not _need_ to wear it, but most did. It showed their families, and the sky of their birth. Each and every one was unique and equally breathtaking. Some would claim that it’s extravagance, it’s equal status in all castes would only serve as a greater target to those seeking those pretty red headed fae.

Little known to them, the Watchers were dutymen first, and spellweavers second. Mothers and aunts and grandfathers, cousins and sisters and brothers alike would hover over one weave, and do their very best to protect whomever was under it from harm. Star veils were lethal, beautiful things. Most spells wouldn’t come into maturity until twenty years had passed, but thoughtful sisters would oftentimes weave spells to make sure no one with ill intent could ever pick up a young Watcher.

The Watchers may give up their force sensitives, but their protection, their teeth against the world would always be with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Court of Watchers was supposed to be relevant like once or twice, but they developed a culture in three seconds and I'm terrified.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some sweet, sweet, plot.

It was a quiet morning in the temple. Wind chimes rung slowly, with a delicate sound that would disturb no one. The Inbetween was at peace. This was realistically why they had missed it. 

A crecheling was missing. It was such a peaceful morning, and the child in question had never been known for rising early to meditate like some did. The creche masters had recalled how tired and excited he was yesterday, and had let him sleep in with a small smile on their faces and a shake of the head.

No one had noticed the still made bed until Initiate Ventress had gone looking for Obi-Wan, having promised to teach the young one how to braid his hair, as short as it was, the previous day.

She had found his bed empty, his star veil gone and the hair ties she had given him still splayed out on the dresser, ready to be used by fumbling little hands. Ventress did not personally know much about the Watchers, but the fact that his delicate, jade green veil, was gone provided the slightest relief. The spells would protect him in most cases, but he would still be lost.

The council knew of his regularity, but he belonged to the Inbetween now, and the Jedi themselves cherished younglings fervently. They had so few these days, from so many courts, so many species. They loved them all dearly. His kidnapping, for it would be possibly little else, was met with the glowing yellow eyes of specific Jedi, and a quiet, slumbering fury in the others. He would be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if at this point, you haven't yet filled my comment section with every random thought you've ever had about this, your predictions, and what you'd like to see, that is something I fully encourage you to do. Giving prompts and asking for updates are two very commonly mistaken things though, so be careful so I don't have to sacrifice you to the writing gods for your sins.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops, did I say three? I meant four.

The council had assembled, picked someone to hunt, and awaited a verdict. No arguing, no petty disagreements based on one’s force nature, their eye color, their court. This was the committee that the rest of the world saw, the High Council that dealt out justice to all of those who came to them.

Plo Koon, in the end, a Finder, Obi-Wan’s Finder, was the one chosen to hunt him down, and bring him home. He was young, desperately young. His fangs we’re still growing in, his star veil was still maturing alongside him. He could just barely make choppy sentences, and he smiled at everyone and their hearts melted in one collective puddle.

He had set out as soon as the verdict was passed, and had kept his claws uncapped. He had found him once, and he was sure he could find them again. It was his duty. Investigating his bedroom had informed him of little other than his hobbies, his few friends.

He, in truth, wasn’t the best tracker at first. But the force provides, and his Wolfpack, his lovely band of renegades and hunters and half-fae, had taught him what they knew. He utilized that knowledge now, and tugged on the very fabric of the Inbetween to find what he sought.

-

Obi-Wan, when he found him, was ever so delicately, being held in an armored figure's arms. On a mountain, like the last time he had Found them, like fate. Plo couldn’t visibly tell their species, but the armor itself told him. One of the Mandalorian Court. That style, that smithing, was only found in one corner of the world, and anyone who stole it found themselves dead eventually.

One of the first things he noticed, with sharp eyes and senses, was that Obi-Wan still had his veil knotted around his throat. A precautionary sniff also indicated that someone in a possibly a thirty meter radius was very dead. Plo made no move to go forwards, to lunge. This likely wasn’t the original perpetrator, if the Watchers weaving hadn’t struck them down. A more paranoid line of thought considered the properties of  _ beskar.  _

He didn’t speak, either. Obi-Wan was sound asleep and the figure had not yet spoken to him. As if summoned, they looked back at him, under a helmet of black and blue. He had no clue to their thoughts, why they were in the Inbetween in the first place. He would consider it one kindness to simply forget.

“I would very much like to raise a son.” Plo was surprised, barely hearing it from under both the helmet and the tone they kept to not disturb the crecheling in the crook of their arm. He took one look at them, the child they had saved, and got their assumption. Mandalorians we’re not subtle, and this one was no different. 

Plo’s tone was flat when he replied. “He belongs in the creche, to the Inbetween. The land will never willingly give him up.” Every statement was true, and had never been disputed. Every Jedi who tried to keep away for a year, forever, had gotten an itch in their blood, they turned into a heat that had eventually developed into a boiling if they refused to come back.

Their next statement was a mutter, a thing under their breath. “He’s so sweet, so brave, and he hasn’t bloodsworn yet, what would stop me?” It had gradually raised in volume. He could imagine a fae-sharp grin on their face, a complentative expression perhaps. They, he had to admit, had a point.

Too much of a point, in fact. He stepped forward, a warning. They didn’t heed it, or perhaps simply didn’t fear it. They made a point, stroking his star veil. They had no ill intent, meaning this genuinely. The figure made no move to turn towards him again.

“Would you like to make a deal?” Plo nearly snarled at the idea. They stiffened their spine, not in fear, but something else. They added onto it, thoughtfully. “How about you listen, you don’t tear my spine out and in return, I don’t slit your neck open Kel Dor.” They were Mandalorian, he had no doubt that they’d heavily consider it, if not attempt it. He listened. 

“He becomes my heir, for I am growing too old for my position, he finishes his training, but does not make your blood oath.” He did not know how they knew about that, but it wasn’t the time to inquire after their sources. “I get to keep him once he trains, if he  _ decides _ to come with me.” They placed heavy emphasis on the word. He watched them ponder over what to say next, surely plotting out something airtight. 

They tiltered their head, looked back at him, and Plo had a sudden chill run down his spine. “You bind your life to mine, and in return, I give him back temporarily. If you break the deal, purposely try to keep him from me, I have the authority, by Fae law to take  _ you  _ and this child. If I, on the other hand, break it, you, by  _ Mandalorian  _ law have the right to kill me, and my family could not take vengeance.” They, for he felt it, could almost see it, smiled. A predator's smile. “I swear it on the  _ Ka’ra.”  _ Plo stiffened. This, overall, was not an ideal afternoon. 

He would protest, ask why he shouldn’t simply take them, negotiate for something else, but a quiet voice told him that it would get him nowhere, that this was truly all they wanted, and if a bond was what they wanted, then a bond was what they would get.

Plo leaned down, towards their position, and very clearly, broadcasting his actions, put his claw covers back on, one by one. “May the Inbetween be our witness.” He told. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot plot plot
> 
> Fun Stuff!! Plo has a instinctive feeling that yes, Herrah could most likely beat his ass in seconds. This is the safest option for Obi-Wan to grow up in the Inbetween.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ..Smol chapter for the morn.

The problem with the council, in the end, was that they knew that they couldn’t do anything to annul the deal. They had not yet bonded and that was a sharp relief, but that was only because the Fae, Herrah, they had called themselves,  _ knew _ that their deal was strong, and that they truly could do little about it.

They pondered over it, a few asked him why he hadn’t simply taken Obi-Wan and killed them and to that, he was forced to respond with what his instincts told him. And the true assailant. Some simply didn’t get that Herrah was old, that Plo had been standing in the presence of someone who gave off the presence of a predator. He was not confident that even he would have survived that encounter if they had fought instead of dealt.

Plo was not young, quite the opposite, but that did not extinguish that feeling. She was wearing a helmet, full armor the entire time, and yet he still felt as if her eyes had tracked him the entire time they were in that mountain, making that deal. He had left with Obi-Wan tucked into the crook of his own arm and a chill down his spine.

The thing that had taken him, in the end, had been a golem. A mere puppet for something else. It was concerning to think that someone could walk away with him like that. A few people gathered, muttered, proposed the idea of some illusion that could have twisted their minds. Not even the Inbetween had noticed until it was too late.

Why would someone create such a thing for one Watcher child? They did not know the answer, and they dreaded it slightly. Herrah was at least something that had some record of dealing with. Though no one contemplated how strong that veil needed to be, how strong  _ Herrah _ had to be to have taken down the golem he had found.

No one remarked on the state of the corpse, or the very obvious wounds of someone looking for a heart. No spell could have done that, and no simple Fae could have torn through a golem’s chest.

Plo, silently, beyond the terror and worry prevailing over everyone, thought about why that Fae had suddenly decided to include him in the deal. Because he knew that head tilt, that barely noticeable hum, had meant that this Fae had little intention to involve him at first, little desire more than to take the child they had saved and raise it as their own.

He knew the basics of the deal, the failsafes they set, but he truly did not know why they had insisted on a bond, and had no idea what they would end up doing with it in the end. Calling a Fae honorable was a difficult task, beyond their deals they were almost never so, but the Mandalorian Court had a code of honor. A set of rules for their Court. Plo would only hope that those rules protected one such as he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell Plo. Let him stir in worry for a while. He'll be fine. (I mean he doesn't really know that but-)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be longer, but I've been tired, I got my point across and I'm just a little out of ideas.

It was after a long case, Plo barely awake and blearily rubbing his eyes when he had found the first object. He was fully intending to just go to sleep, and had just shaken off his outer robes so he could climb under the covers and forget about everything going on around him.

On his way to the bed, he had fumbled with the caps for his claws, and reached to place them on the nightstand, as he usually did. Instead of finding the empty spot, his claws sent something else clattering to the floor. The noise temporarily shook him out of the sleepy daze that came with his anticipation for a  _ bed.  _

He sharpened his senses, and tried to spot whatever he had sent clattering without needing to turn his light back on. He thought he saw multiple little shapes, so he kneeled down to shakily pick them up.

Plo stared at the clearly brand new claw caps, and decided, in spite of himself, to turn the light on so he could better see what was in his hands. His feet shuffled across the floor to the place where his fae light was located, and in one motion, activated it and looked down at the claw covers.

They were nearly identical in shape and size to his standard ones, the material and light engravings were the only recognizable difference. He, after carefully peering down one, slipped it on and discovered that even the  _ fit  _ was near identical.

The real concern here was how someone managed to get inside his room, and why he was being gifted these. No other being in the temple would fit these, or require them. He figured, because at the moment it appeared to be an innocent enough gift, that he could sleep now and be paranoid later.

-

For five days, once or twice a day, Plo had been encountering similar gifts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brrrrrr
> 
> He's not gonna find them


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herrah comes to claim her debt.

A week later, a week after the retrieval, the deal, the council called their next session. Plo Koon had made the choice that would benefit the initiate, the order, and now he was to pay for it.

The council did not punish for dealing, in their world they could not. Deals we’re as commonplace as jokes, and there would be no retribution from completing his job and not even harming anyone involved. If anything, he was to be rewarded from the council.

The Mandalorian would be there at dusk, so once the standard trials had ended, Padawans fed and Initiates tucked into bed, the council called their session. They sat in their chairs, holstered their swords and waited. All their eyes centered on the walls shielding them all from view, on each other as they brewed in their anticipation.

This Mandalorian, at the very least, was polite enough to use the door. They had rapped their kunckles on the surface of it, and after a moment's command stepped inside the chamber itself. Not a single member of that council doubted for a moment that the guards had not seen them.

“I’ve come to collect a deal.” Quiet enough to be polite, loud enough to be authoritative, the armored figure had spoken. The council stood, one motion for them all. They had prepared for this. Today, Shaak Ti served as their voice.

The Tougutan in question eyed them, always a predator. “The council recognizes this deal. What are your claims?” She was young, but her voice still echoed. Her sword was sheathed on her hip.

The Fae, because they could be recognized as little else in this moment, straightened themselves, and as was apparent custom, presented their terms in the vaguest manner possible. “The Kel Dor’s lifebond for the Watcher. The sparing of his life for the bypass of an oath.” They held little doubt that their eyes we’re at least somewhat upturned.

If this was a less informal session, perhaps one simply not concerning a life-deal, someone most likely would have snapped and asked for them to elaborate at this point, barely minutes in. Simply put, they tended to not get the emphasis on the pure ambiguity. 

The Fae on the council eyed the rest of them, likely knowing exactly what was running through their minds.

-

The Fae, Herrah, had claimed three days for the trip to and from. It needed to be done on the proper soil, with the proper witness. Afterwards, Plo would be free to come and go as he wished, as long as they both honored that life-deal.

  
A few had eyed Plo, near dared to tell him exactly what he had agreed to, but in the end, no one had informed him of the courtship, nor the  _ riduurok  _ he was about to walk right into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where are the knights you ask? Studying and drinking caf in lethal amounts. The council couldn't get them to sleep if they fuckin tried.
> 
> Half the council: Why the fuck are they so _vauge! _  
> The other half the council: *Fae smiles*__


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plo and Herrah make their first pilgrimage into the Mandalorian dunes.

At first, it was simple enough. They would go to Mandalore, bond, and then leave.

Herrah, apparently, did not take her family in account. As soon as she stepped over one particular dune, a silhouette of a bird appeared over the horizon. Herrah saw it, grimaced, and grabbed Plo’s forearm.

He personally didn’t get it, but he began to when the Mandalorian suddenly tugged him into her arms, one motion about as swift as it got. Plo was not the type of person to startle, but even he made a surprised noise at that. Herrah suddenly sped up, with little explanation other than a sigh.

The bird, something that was very clearly not native, dove for them when they reached a certain point. Herrah made no move to stop it, and Plo just clung, still awkward about being carried. As it steadily came into view, he finally recognized the figure of an owl.

It made no noise, and simply flung itself onto Herrah’s left pauldron. Herrah eyed it and readjusted her grip on him. The eagle owl flared it’s feathers at her attention.

“Maeve. Where is ‘Mon?” She greeted it, curt as she always seemed to be. Her sudden stillness made him all too aware of his place in her arms. The owl twisted it’s head to look at him for a moment before it flared up and lifted off of her pauldron.

Barely a moment later, a figure with the same gold eyes stared her down. Plo very politely looked away. “We weren’t aware you had deigned to leave your isolation until three days ago. Hakim practically ripped the note away from our hands before it even reached the Armorer.” This was new news to him, but Herrah simply sighed.

How long had Herrah been in the Inbetween wilds for what sounded like such an aggressive reaction? If she had been there, what other things had they missed?

Herrah stared down at him, barely a flicker of attention, but he got the feeling that she had noticed  _ something _ off with him. Plo suppressed his reaction at that. It was bad enough that he was on Mandalorian land, let alone in her arms and apparently experiencing a delay.

He had said nothing, he was sure he had said nothing, but Herrah cocked her head at him under her helmet, and he listened as she apparently inferred his thought process.

“I killed most of the other creatures in the wilds. Your welcome Koon.” That in itself was a surprise on it’s own. Plo held his breath in anticipation for something, but he only watched Herrah resume, and the eagle owl fly away in the distance, easily forgotten.

He didn’t know what to make of this, and he had just entered. He dreaded what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise surprise, the Viern family happens to just be a bunch of owl shifters and their spouses. Who could've guessed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More owls, a lil Hakim, and some Plo.

The rest of the way was mostly quiet, and Plo was, eventually, let down. He took this with a sense of relief, a glance toward the Mandalorian who had carried him most of the way there and a thought that maybe, he should speed up and she wouldn’t do that again.

He would’ve almost thought her amused, but her mood seemed to tone out more evenly the closer they got to their destination, less of her Fae wildness making itself apparent. She offered no explanation for this, and he asked for none in turn.

She carefully avoided certain spots, and the Kel Dor made sure to mimic her best as he could. She looked back at him appraisingly when he did this, but made little comment. He had never been to Mandalorian lands other than specific roads, and even that was scarce. Plo didn’t wish to make any mistakes now.

He had spotted various owls flying above, and he took this as a sign that they were close to their destination. Truly, the faster they got this over with, the better. The heat wasn’t horrible, but he still questioned how Herrah could seemingly be so fine in her  _ beskar _ . The stuff looked like it would absorb the heat easily.

Her pace relaxed eventually, and she reached for his forearm once more.

“Might as well get this over with.” it was the first thing she had said in what felt like hours. Her hand gripped his arm and Plo spared a thought to be grateful that her talons we’re covered like his own claws. She hesitated for moments, and her helmet locked with his eyes. “You're about to be bombarded very heavily. I can do little about it but I’ll try.” It was said awkwardly, but Plo could hear the sincerity in her voice. He nodded in response.

She tugged him along, through some sort of arch, and Plo could see structures. As soon as they both passed the threshold, three of the owls that had been circling suddenly dove, reminiscent of earlier.

Plo spared a thought for his poor shoulders, but right before a wicked looking grey owl could perch on his shoulder, Herrah suddenly extended her arm and some sort of instinct kicked in. The grey owl screeched and clinged to her arm instead. He shot her a grateful look. She very pointedly looked at the other two owls who swooped for her shoulders. He stood stock still, taking in the picture of that golem killer covered in birds. And he resisted the urge to snort. He had just saved his shoulders, he could at least be polite.

One of the owls immediately swooped up, like the eagle owl from earlier, and Plo prepared to avert his eyes. Instead of a bare figure, however, a  _ beskar _ clad Mandalorian stepped up into Herrah’s space for a split second, before sharply looking back at him.

Plo froze internally, but externally, held the same relaxed posture. They circled him, and Plo very pointedly did not react. Herrah had no such qualms and shot her arm out to hold their shoulder, they grudgingly stopped in response.

“Your Plo Koon then?” He figured the aforementioned letter had given them that information. He nodded a touch, merely confirming. An unusually large barn owl, the one perched on Herrah’s right shoulder, cocked it’s head at him.

The Mandalorian focused their attention on him, and any of the leftover fear had decided to make itself present now. He could imagine their expression. “So how, pray tell, did you get in my sister’s good graces?” It was sharp, almost an accusation.

Plo was, in a moment, reminded that he had dealt with far worse than this in his time as a Finder. “It involved an Initiate, a golem, and a watcher’s veil, I believe.” If he was being purposely vague to give this fae a taste of his own medicine, then that was to be kept to himself.

He then, in a moment's notice, finally digested the latter half of that statement. Oh dear.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE FINALLY HERE.

Plo was regarded with weird looks from most of the Viern’s he had encountered so far. He dismissed them mostly, crediting it to his remark to what was apparently one of the oldest members of their clan.

He would really, most likely, regret that later. He winced to even think about it, to be fair. Even Herrah had shot him a look, and despite it being amused to everyone else's shock, it was still an  _ expression _ from her. Or, as much of an expression as he could get under a helmet. That alone proved the volume of what he had done. 

The owls on her shoulders and arm had gone, somewhere to which Plo did not know. Herrah had taken his forearm again, as if to guide him, and he dutifully followed. She twisted and turned, looking for a location in a more packed in space.

She had paused in front of a door, looked back at him, and Plo received another feeling of expression under her helmet, and one of the comments that we’re becoming ever more scarce. He tracked her with his eyes.

“Too late to turn back now Koon, I sure hope you're prepared.” It was a sharp thing, but it, unlike most of Herrah’s previous comments, rumbled with a purr. She released his forearm.

Plo shot her a wary look, but followed her inside when she held the door open. They walked in to see one figure, perhaps his height and fully armored, they inclined their head at them.

Herrah strode forward to sit across them, at a low sitting table. Plo, ever the follower here, sighed, and went to sit down next to them. Herrah, for the first time since he had ever met them, eased their helmet off, and set it on the table in front of them.

Plo, ever so quietly, groaned. He sighed and went to unbuckle the vambrace he was wearing. He had been ignoring this possibility since the beginning. A pair of blue and hazel eyes tracked his movements, and Plo could finally see that fanged grin for himself.

He looked up. “I think it’s prudent for you to know that certain parties won’t take this well.” He deadpanned. Herrah only showed off more of her fangs in response. “I know.” She cooed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist, he wasn't oblivious (okay maybe he was, we aren't gonna lie) but was mostly ignoring it until last minute. The council is _not _gonna like this.__


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you guys have realized this yet, but I'm gonna keep on posting bad snippets until you guys give me feedback you cowards.

Plo and Herrah, at some point, had ended up with her brother’s family. She had fully intended to leave once she had honored the tradition, and had offered to let Plo go back to the temple himself, but as soon as Herrah and Plo had walked onto the dunes with an unfamiliar vambrace on, a great horned owl with blond plumage had gone straight for them.

They had shifted between one moment and the next, and the figure was quick to grab Plo’s forearm, A brief moment was directed towards wondering if it was a cultural thing, for how often it had occurred to him. Herrah’s brother turned his forearm, as if the yellow designs would change, before, instead of being aggressive to  _ him  _ as he had initially expected _ ,  _ he proceeded to march up to his sister.

He jabbed a finger at her, and Plo could only awkwardly watch from where he was standing. “You disappear for three years,  _ again! _ And the first thing you do is  _ get married _ ?” He shouted. Herrah stood there, rigid but not yet aggressive, more uncomfortable than anything. “You’ve had your entire life to find a spouse, and as soon as you did find one you just tried to  _ run of _ f into the dunes with him instead of introducing him to your _ family _ !” As the rant progressed, Plo felt more and more awkward about being there.

Hakim whirled towards him, and Plo almost expected a rant for him as well, but Hakim simply took his arm and marched back in the opposite direction to where he and Herrah had been intending. His fury cooled somewhat. Plo did not even attempt to mitigate the dragging, but did shoot a helpless glance at his wife.

Herrah sighed, and followed her brother. Plo took that as a sign that they really couldn’t do anything about this. Hakim’s grip wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t loosening anytime soon. Plo spared a moment to wonder why he got mixed up with Fae.

Eventually, they had arrived at a _ yaim _ , and Plo was marched to a table and sat down. Herrah awkwardly slumped down next to him, and Hakim strode off somewhere in the kitchen. It took him a moment to notice, but an unfamiliar face was watching them from the next room over, they appeared to be level with his thigh and Plo instantly diverted his gaze, he didn’t wish to make them any more anxious.

He heard them patter in, and a few moments later two tiny hands laid themselves on the vambrace Herrah had exchanged with him. They attempted to lift it slightly, and Plo obliged by raising his arm up for them. Once they were delved into their curiosity, Plo glanced at them. They had dark brown hair in an almost identical shade the Herrah, and their eyes slanted in a way that Plo had mostly ever seen in more southernmost regions.

Having got over their apparent shyness, the tiny figure looked up at him and stared into his goggles. “I’m Kisa.” They informed him, a serious tone somehow curling through their child's voice. They looked back at his vambrace. “And you’ve got one of aunties ‘braces. So that means you must be my  _ ba’vodu _ .” They inferred. 

Herrah leaned back in her sitting position, and gave Kisa a little wave. This must have signaled something, because Kisa very quickly abandoned him in favor of crawling into Herrah’s lap. It was adorable, and if Fae we’re anything like humans, very much blackmail material.

Hakim walked in, spotted Kisa crawling over his sister and set down the two cups of  _ shig  _ he had retrieved. He sighed with inherent fondness. He lifted his own  _ buy’ce _ off of his head and placed it on the closest counter.

Plo was startled at the similarities between Hakim and Herrah. They were siblings, true, but he had expected them to have years apart based off of the way they acted around each other. They had almost identical facial structure. The same crinkles at the corner of the eyes when they smiled, the same nose, the same jaw. He couldn’t tell if Hakim looked feminine or Herrah just looked masculine when he compared the two in his head.

They had one big difference between them, and it was their pigmentation, Plo had to admit he didn’t know much about near-human genetics, but hair that white-blond had to be a recessive trait, he was sure. Hakim could have been said to have the same eyes, except he lacked the heterocromia and his we’re an identical pair of hazel.

The man in question walked forward and stared down at his sister, taking advantage of the child sprawled over her. “Kisa and Tamlin missed you Herrah, we all wished you’d be around more.” Herrah flinched, actually  _ flinched,  _ at that. Her hand curled over Kisa, who had almost fallen into a sleepy haze.

She opened her mouth, closed it for a second, and Plo heard a noise he was pretty sure was out of normal human range. Not that anyone in the room  _ was  _ human. “You know why I do that Hakim, you know why.” She sounded pained. Plo glanced at them in concern. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about himself, but it appeared to be a sensitive topic.

Hakim’s expression twisted, but the hard look in his eyes remained. “You have grounding now, you’ve had a millennia of experience.” Plo could have sworn at that. “Isn’t it safe enough to come home? Isn’t it safe enough that you can finally stop hiding from the world again?” There was a touch of desperation in his voice.

Herrah looked at him, at the vambrace, and didn’t bother to look her brother in the eye when she responded. She paused, thinking about her reply. “..Maybe. Eventually Hakim. I’ve got a deal to honor. All I can promise is that I’ll be around  _ more. _ ”

Hakim took on his sisters earlier expression, and Plo could hear the desperate sounding whisper. He could imagine if they were holding anything, it would have long since shattered. “Just promise me you’ll be here next solstice, that’s all I ask  _ vod. _ ” Kisa was, at this point, asleep. Herrah carefully rose with them and handed them off to Hakim.

“I’ll try Hakim.” Plo could hear that millennia in their voice, something old enough to not lie to themselves in this age. “I’ll try.” She repeated.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Before] An origin of a folktale, and something else far more precious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Will Not Elaborate.
> 
> Ah who am I kidding if you have questions ask and someone will get to you.-
> 
> This is set about.. uh. 800 or so years before the main timeline?

There was a woman walking out of the woods. Some, at first, took one look and guessed them for male, but a closer look at their face, or a word slipping past their lips would quickly rectify that assumption for most. She was cloaked in grey, and the robes she donned were ivory. They were cut in the style of a man, and this was ultimately the culprit for most of the confusion.

Right after their towering figure, and to be blunt, the clearly displayed athleticism. No female would ever be expected to look as they did. In these parts of the borders, most of their citizens were slight, and while they had their fair share of visitors, they had never seen one with this particular likeness.

They did not express any particular displeasure of the weather nor react to any looks. This was most likely a common occurrence for them. Their dark hair, and the tone of their skin implied the influence of warmer places. The unusuality, beyond their unfamiliar ethnicity, was in the strange elements that made themselves known when one looked long enough.

The feathers, for one. Under their cloak, you could see long flight feathers peeking out from underneath, and smaller ones could be glimpsed around their throat. The shimmered in the sun, and we’re tipped in stripes of grey, making themselves known over the softer bronzes. They were mostly covered, but some did not respect the boundaries of their cloak.

It was obvious, once you put these elements together, that this was clearly a Fae. This wasn’t entirely unusual, but even for one of those fine-limbed, deadly people, this one seemed to be a little more sharp-eyed. They, on the other hand, also appeared as if someone had stuck twigs in their hair and hadn’t slept for nearly a week. The air of mystification faded somewhat once you had gotten that close.

In its place, Aithe thought, came that subconscious desire to let one’s eyes wander in places they rather shouldn’t. The Fae woman- female. That was likely the proper term, had taken one sharp-eyed look at the stand she managed for her master, and immediately strode towards there. She was, currently, holding up a particularly plain strand of clay beads and musing.

Aithe, unlike some of the wary shoppers and keeps around, was not scared. Or perhaps, she could not muster the reaction as soon as that Fae’s dark hair had fallen into her face, and had watched with her own sharp eyes as they had brushed it back behind a delicately pointed ear, sighing. They had stared downwards still, for they towered over Aithe, and she was suddenly made aware of a heat in her cheeks and an absentminded new fondness for females.

A pair of eyes, one blue, one hazel, stared into her soul. The twigs, the clear exhaustion, and the ruffled feathers seemed to fade away until she had realized that the female, the  _ customer,  _ had been attempting to say something. She squeaked, the female had laughed for some reason and after that Fae had ducked out, took one sniff of the sky, they had hurriedly tried to finish the transaction, as a front of rain had decided to steadily move in at a moments notice.

The female had no obligation to do so, but she had helped Aithe pack up her wares. They both ended up shoved against one of the walls, exchanging looks that got their displeasure for the rush along to anyone that nearly bumped into the potter’s wares. 

There was a small flood of people trying to get their far more delicate things inside quickly, and even so, Aithe had managed to spot the Fae knot the beads she had purchased around her throat, give a tiny wave in her direction after carefully setting the crate she held down, and in a split second, something she had barely manage to see, disappear after scarcely three steps.

Any other person, perhaps, would have missed it, but Aithe had caught a bird, one with feather horns and soft bronze feathers, soar off into the rain. It was at this moment, with rain pouring down her face, that she realized that she had mistaken a owl’s plumage for a hawks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking News: Local Fae Cryptid turns local potter gay and gets caught in rainstorm trying to buy offering to placate babby cousins. 
> 
> (Spoilers: They become friends.)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Before] Rhyalis was a great warrior, a great mother, and a great _myth _.__
> 
> _  
> _Set 973 years before main timeline._  
> _

Her twins were curled up, wrapped in each other's limbs and hair and woes. She had watched them mutter back and forth, a mere step away from the stair that would take her into the hearth room itself. She couldn’t bear to take that step in the end, and she had stood, a silent watcher, as her owlets fell into a quiet rest.

It was only once she had heard their breaths even out, that she dared to tread inside. As she got closer, ever more delicately stepping, her heart burned. She eased her helmet off of her head, and carefully extended a gloved hand to cart through Hakim’s white-blond. Herrah had her reflexes, and did not like it when her  _ buir  _ played with the dark wisps.

  
Eventually, ever so carefully, Rhys picked up her helmet, eased it back onto her head. She refolded her dark cloak over her  _ beskar _ , and went to war, with a burning heart and a renewed cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow oops, did I slide that angst to you accidently, sorry, sorry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for messing with the publishing date, I am Tired.
> 
> [After] ??? Years after main timeline.

Plo, for the fourth time in an hour, realised that his loops had fallen out of alignment, _again._ He stared down at his project, and back at his wife who was in the middle of a stitch very clearly not part of what they had decided to work on. That, however, implied that it was working. It wasn’t to be fair.

Obi-Wan had hit another growth spurt, and decided, in between the same breaths that he had asked for additional sword lessons, that he wanted to learn how to sew. Herrah didn’t react as poorly, until he had told her that he wanted to learn how to work with thin, delicate fabrics.

Herrah had frozen at that. The issue, she had explained to them both, was that Herrah had very, very sharp, rugged claws designed for tearing through flesh, and in all of her attempts to work on something finer, it either took her an extraordinarily long time (She had stared down the light, desert robes Plo had found in his closet one morning before they had married.) or her claws simply tore through it like butter. (She had flexed them, and Obi-Wan held up his own much finer claws to compare.)

Obi-Wan was determined anyways, and Herrah had decided that she would try again. Plo, ever the curious being, decided to try it out himself.

That, frankly, had been a horrible idea. He had no idea how the rest of them managed to do it. Maybe it had something to do with the extra fingers? He held little idea. He had run into his own unique issues, but he was determined to try, so Obi-Wan would have something to compare to. Herrah rang with amusement, but continued to sew whatever leather she held in her hands. He didn’t doubt that it would probably end up on some cousin's hip, and of far better make than his disastrous attempts.

Obi-Wan stumbled in, sand in his copper, and Kisa followed behind him, politely waving to him and Herrah. The Watcher hummed, and walked up to Plo’s project. He raised a brow, and Plo held his hands together inside of the sleeves of his robe, serene as ever. Obi-Wan grew bored of analyzing the stitches, but Kisa took a chair at the table and turned to watch his wife with him.

Herrah reached behind herself, pulled up a delicate looking scarf, hemmed with blue thread. Obi-Wan twisted and turned the little length of fabric in his hands, oozing with curiosity, and Herrah only laughed when Obi-Wan had found one of the holes Plo knew were in there. Herrah had hissed every time her claws had misbehaved.

Obi-Wan bounded over to Kisa with the fabric, and he exchanged a look with Herrah. Neither of them we’re qualified to even think to teach him to sew such things, let alone weave. It might be best if they had found a Watcher to apprentice him during the summer. Herrah shrugged to get her thought across.

Plo, in a part of his brain that hadn’t forgotten each term of that deal, was glad Herrah was even willing to consider it. She wasn’t keen on letting Obi-Wan out of the house even, when the council had finally given her approval. To be fair, after the golem scare, no one had really wanted to. 

He twisted over a thought, considered it, and immediately regretted it when it escaped his mouth. “I might know a place?”

Herrah’s eyes lit up, and Plo very quietly hoped that Obi-Wan’s family had truly given up all their connection to their force sensitive son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi wants to learn how to sew, Herrah only knows how to sew thicker stuff because she has claws designed to rip peoples guts open. Plo accuses the five fingered people of having an unfair advantage.
> 
> Watcher summer camp?? Teach him to weave so we can get this phase of life over with?? Please.  
> Plo accidently lets Obi's fam's address slip. Well, guess he'll die.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awkward, possible finale. I have many other ideas, but I was incredibly uninspired most of this month. I'm leaving this a WIP for now, in case I have extras. But consider this done.

Four hundred years ago, according to the long accepted standard Watcher time, there was something not quite exactly a war in the Mandalorian territories. 

No one had officially declared it as such, and the beings in the territory, if they had lived during the time, had described it more as an aftermath of one, or the broiling up. No one had truly looked to the other and slaughtered the other in plain sight. Both parties wanted the territory, and the people with it.

The last war, one ages ago, had ravaged the land. Mandalorians, unlike many, tried to heed their ancestors' mistakes. This silent war, one done without grand battles or declarations, was done in such a way that the environment would survive, the people they wanted would survive.

This did not stop the other effects from occurring.

Prices grew, a beskar shortage was declared, armorers hung their heads in shame, or feared persecution. Mandalore was a place of fear, and the silent war extended past it’s borders. The rest of the world was not as quiet with it’s violence during this decade.

Their neighbors had the same problems, and most knew what was occurring in the heart of the Mandalorian Court. This did not stop the refugees. People warned them off, saying that anyone not born a Mando’ad risked death to cross the dunes in this time.

This did not stop the refugees. And neither did it stop their guides. 

The Mandalorian Court was splitting apart, shattering. Not everyone had the bravery to wage war, and some simply wanted to protect their _aliit_ . The Viern’s were one such family. They hailed from a war hero, in a battle long since past of origin no one would believe in this age. People did not fight the Jedi. People did not fight the Jedi and _live._

They had gathered their numbers, scattered across the world, and had sequestered to a place long since forgotten. They had not gathered in centuries. Long enough that not even the ones alive during the last great war could truly remember when this had last occurred. They were not cowards, they were pessimistic, and they feared the outcome of the silent war, and what would occur to them afterwards.

They had provided warriors for centuries, had lived and loved and danced for just as long. Vizla headed one side, their Mand’alor the other. The Vierns had married both before and they feared that this alliance, something that had been far more honorable in the past, would earn them extinction when either side reigned victorious.

Some of them joined sides, others claimed neutrality. A few, a group none of them dare mention, loyalty holding their tongues, ran refugees. Vierns, despite rumor, were not cruel. The bravery to cross the sands was convincing enough for some, for others it was arrogance, and desperation. It was not a profession for all.

Sarras Viern was a young fae, in comparison to the centuries their clansmen could rack up. They were stubborn, and scruffy, but they knew what they were doing. Their cousins winced anyways, and dragged their hands down their helmets when the five foot five ball of _audacity_ proposed their most recent plot.

The Vierns all came from the same sky, but people still didn’t mess with the family of Rhysalis. Their _riduur_ had not yet given up on life just yet, but they isolated themselves, and refused the position of elder everytime it was prompted. It was the twins you truly needed to watch out for. They were Vierns, always, but people watched their claws, spoke softer around them, and didn’t _dare_ to request anything of them _._

Sarras might have had a screw loose, during these years. It was well known that the twins were welcoming behind the armor, truly, but Sarras was tipping the line of their patience, and this plot had the chance to cut it completely.

The twins did not run refugees. _Herrah_ did not run refugees. Not even sharp eyed Kel Dor refugees who were seeking asylum in one of their closest neighbors. It was a fool’s bargain from the beginning, and many of them knew it.

Somehow, though, Sarras had convinced the female to hear them out. It started amicably enough, the first thing Herrah did was tug on one of the soft blonde feathers poking out from behind their ears, and giving them a pointed look. Sarras immediately batted their hands away and smoothed the feathers down with one hand, scowling.

Herrah cocked her head, but receded her hand. “What do you want, cousin?” She greeted.

Sarras, more self consciously this time, smoothed their feathers that had gotten stuck during their last shift. They weren’t that closely related, really. Herrah was just in a good mood, for once. She had tried to preen them, even. It felt rude to disturb that.

Sarras paused, backed up slightly, stalled for a few seconds, aware of the inquisitive look Herrah was sending them. They cocked their head, stilled the urge to raise their claws to their mouth. Their bun flopped to the side, and Sarras finally mustered to will to speak up.

“I um. I need your help with something.” They backtracked, aware of their mistake. “I think your assistance would go far, I mean.” They corrected themselves. It wouldn’t do to sound hesitant about this, especially with such a matter.

Herrah stilled, and Sarras watched her body stiffen almost statuesque. She leaned forward ever so slightly, and Sarras was almost grateful for the barrier of beskar. That look would have been too intense otherwise. Herrah rose her arm again, hovered it over their forearm, not quite touching them. 

She spoke up, something sharper. “Is someone bothering you again?” They didn’t have a visible expression to decipher, but Sarras had been around Mando’ade their whole life, and easily pegged it as irritation, not quite anger, not without confirmation.

Sarras shut that down quickly enough. “Oh stars no, not after what you did the last time! That’s not what I came to talk about.” They reassured them. Sarras probably should have been prepared for that assumption, to be honest.

Herrah cocked her head again, more confused than before. They cleared their throat. “Not to be arrogant, cousin, but I’m not entirely sure what you’d need my assistance with beyond that. Most people don’t really approach me with your everyday requests.” She was right. It was an unspoken rule to not bother the twins with much.

They weren’t exactly better than anyone else, it’s just that, really, they did the compound a service. And the Rhysalis line was maybe, sorta, filled with some of the greatest _beroya_ Mandalore had ever seen. Nothing much.

Not even mentioning the fact that all together, their ages reached four digits. The twins were in their sixth century, their _buir_ in their ninth. They had mated young, and Rhysalis herself had scarcely made it into her fourth before her ill fated end. It was tragic, truly. Their children honored them daily, with their words and actions.

Most of the Viern lines had something to boast, and all of them had their own twins to descend from. Lurien, with his sharp talons, and Vespa, with her sharp eyes. It was harder, these days, to find a descendant of Vespa. She had left her craft and her blood, but more of those precious armorers, craftsmen, were killed over the years. They were targeted in an attempt to choke the Vierns supplies, and oftentimes, it worked.

The weaver was their latest saint, and the man had perished nearly fourteen hundred years ago, teeth bared, and impact already made. That was the common ancestor Hakim and Herrah used to address people. Their calls of cousin. 

It was this bond, just this once, that Sarras abused now.

“I’d like you to protect a group, just once, you’ll never need to be involved again, I swear on the Weaver.” They pleaded. The oath had already snapped into place, and they felt the warning touch down their spine. It would haunt them until it was honored, and the nature of it would bind them until either one of them died.

Herrah rose from her seat, towering over Sarras. They could imagine that twitch at the corner of her mouth. Whether in amusement or displeasure. They would bet on the latter, here. They stilled once more, a predator with a different obligation.

“Tell me, why exactly should I do such a thing? Mandalore is in a war, the court is scrambling to make new factions, what obligation do I have to foreigners in such a time?” There was no hiding the true intention from her, she knew what she was being requested to do. She mused. “Why me, even, I’m sure you have any other number of people that could do this.” That was more complicated, and Sarras dreaded explaining it to them.

They settled in, eased the frazzled expression and mustered up every bit of charm they had. This wasn’t going to be easy.

-

Sarras stumbled into a doorway, clinging to whatever sides were there and nervously laughing. A onlooker with dark hair got up to brace them. Sarras took this gratefully and went to sit down. A few of the people got closer, and leaned forward. Eyes or Beskar staring into their soul. They knew what they were hovering for.

Sarras cleared their throat, and slumped. “Well, she’ll do it. Probably. I really hope she doesn’t decide to exploit the seventeen loopholes I probably left in my wake.” They winced and tugged their bun apart, making to redo it. The blonde flopped down their shoulders.

The crowd that had gathered looked at each other, some satisfied with that result, others more curious. One onlooker spoke up, frazzled. “I didn’t think she would do it at all, that’s probably better than expected. Do you know what did it in the end?” They inquired. 

Sarras grimaced, and tugged at the newly done bun. ‘Honestly? I have no idea. The helmet hides most of her cues. She felt like she was going to walk off until I mentioned the group specifically. I wouldn’t know why.” They shrugged, and someone patted them on the back.

This was victory enough, really. They’d just pray that they’d never need to convince the other one. Herrah was enough for one lifetime, no need to get cocky. 

-

Herrah huffed, and eyed the room she was in. Feeling uncomfortable in her armor for the first time in a long while. She didn’t know what to expect, and no one had elaborated upon anything beyond the trail.

She knew the trail, they knew she would. Ever since this _‘Kry’tsad’_ had risen up, she had been forced to stay near. Once the moon rose, she oftentimes flew out, using her eyes to survey the land and make sure no one dared to camp near. 

Factions had tried to move in, in the beginning. But that was quickly enough dealt with.

The door swept open, and the people that padded in were silent on their feet. Some were still hooded, Cloth folded below their masks. They stood straight, not cowering, nor shy. Simply quiet. All of her former experiences with Kel Dor hinted towards it remaining that way for most of the time she would spend around them.

They found various places to settle around the room, carrying water rations and softly chatting with one another. Herrah stood next to a doorway to another room, surveying the group settling themselves into their own little factions. A few of them glanced back at her curiously, but others usually nudged them, and they looked away.

Herrah tried not to focus on one person too long, silently observing and trying to tick down what issues they might run into, but her eyes kept on drifting back to one group of Kel Dor. To anyone else, they might have been unremarkable. They were as quiet as the rest, and sitting adjacent to another group.

Only one thing stood out really. There was a child. Not even old enough to be mistaken for a teenager. A being small enough to be carried. Quietly sitting in one of their parent’s laps. Perhaps not even old enough to speak. 

It reminded her of better times, and the few children that could be found in her own family. Fae did not have children often, so to see them was so often a precious event. Wartime.. Did not often allow for new life. She wasn’t sure what would happen once this one ended, but she hoped it involved that chance to see them again.

She made a point of surveying the rest of the room, but the child had settled the head on an adult's shoulder, and appeared to be looking in her direction. She felt incredibly dumb, truly, but she raised a hand, awkwardly waving. The little goggles followed the motion and she felt slightly relieved that her gesture didn’t go awkwardly unnoticed. 

She was sure, now, that this might actually go fine. Who would dare to mess with her, anyways?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A babey for good luck next month, I don't think I'll end up writing, honestly.


End file.
